


Obliviate

by Katology



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Crying, Fluff, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Morally Grey Dumbledore, Pensieves, Possessive Tom Riddle, Pseudo-Time Travel, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katology/pseuds/Katology
Summary: Love causes the sanest to do the unthinkable, for the smartest to be illogical, and the coldest to warm.Tom Riddle, Slytherin 5th year prefect, meets a student who's parents were killed by the Dark Lord Grindelwald.It was no surprise that the one prophesized to be his downfall to would in fact bring about his demise... just not in the way most would expect.A Tomarry two-shot





	1. Chapter 1

Pale eyes raked the new student. His AK eyes glittered in undisguised hate and he stuck out his hand with a bit more force than necessary. His faced blanked minutely before introducing himself in a misleading, sweet tone; as if he is overcompensating for his aggressive demeanor, “My name is Harry, Harry Potter,”

  


The other man rose a single delicate eyebrow and tilted his head slightly in apparent confusion, “A Potter? I never knew there were more. Are you perhaps related to Charlus?” He grabbed his hand and shook it in false warmth, “Tom Riddle, 6th year prefect,” They both froze when a small spark of heat traveled up their arms, beginning where their hands connect. Tom gave a disarming smile when he recovered, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

  


'Harry' narrowed his eyes. 

  


Tom dropped his smile and amended his mask to be authoritarian before letting the hand go and watching the other awkwardly bring his arms to his sides. 

  


Harry stiffened at the piercing eyes that observed him, and cleared his throat, “Yes actually, I'm the half brother to Fleamont, Charlus' cousin,”

Recognition flickered in Tom's eyes. Fleamont was Head Boy when Tom was in his first year. He admittedly didn't recall him until just now. 

  


Riddle nodded and beckoned Harry to follow him. Harry was on his right side and tried to keep 

  


Harry felt a surge of pride for coming up with the explanation on the spot, maybe getting sorted in Slytherin wouldn't be too bad if he could act like one. up with the other’s brisk stride, possible due to his long legs. He smirked at the shorter man before slowing slightly, allowing the other to walk at the same pace, “My apologies, “ Harry nodded jerkily and half-listened to him ramble on about the directions to different areas in the castle. 

  


Oh Merlin… he was in the past; with bloody Tom Riddle; Lord Voldemort, heir of Slytherin, mass murderer, Dark Lord, You-Know-Who. Murderer of twenty-one year old James and Lily Potter, his parents. 

  


Harry’s fist clenched as a wave of anger ran through his body. 

  


Stupid veil. 

  


Only, not really. This Tom never did any of that; hell, he hasn't even opened the Chamber yet. He is completely innocent of all of his crimes. Was it unfair to blame someone for what they would become? 

  


Would he be enough to change the future? Destroy the persona of Voldemort from the source. Maybe Tom would be Minister of Magic. He was clever enough to be. 

  


A feeling of dread went through him. If he changed Voldemort, he wouldn't have gone through the veil, chasing after Sirius. It was his followers, specifically Bellatrix, that sent his Godfather through there. If they never went to the Department of Mysteries, this whole ordeal would not have happened. There would be no reason to be there if Voldemort didn't exist, which means the prophecy wouldn't exist. His parents wouldn't have died, Neville would have his parents, all the loss from the first wizarding war would cease to exist. 

  


Paradoxes upon Paradoxes. 

  


He could hear Hermione's chiding tone in his mind, “Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time Harry…”

  


Is Sirius still alive? He had arrived seconds after the animagus, breaking through Remus' tight hold; not tight enough, however. He had arrived in the Forbidden Forest screaming. The journey was beyond painful. He had passed out shortly after making out the silhouette of a centaur hovering over him; dark eyes studying him in awe, only visible from the moon light. 

  


He woke up in the hospital wing and was immediately bombarded by the Mediwitch, Madame Jenkins. Harry looked in shock as he saw Apprentice Pomfrey, as she called her, bustling behind her, grabbing needed potions from the stores. It was humbling seeing her at such a time, when all he knew her as was the stern Hogwarts mediwitch that the students collectively 'feared’; not the stuttering girl before him. It was obvious she was new and he smiled kindly at her, which the apprentice returned. 

  


Harry stared in shock at the Daily Prophet, which he had asked to read a copy of. Apparently it was February 16, 1943. He almost fainted. 

  


Shortly after the apprentice asked if he felt nausea, judging by the sick expression on his face. 

  


He asked after a few minutes if they found another man with dark shoulder length hair. 

  


The apprentice frowned in confusion before looking to her teacher. The healer also frowned and replied, “No, sorry,”

  


After being in the infirmary for a few days, he was deemed healthy and was led to the headmaster's office; which Dippet resided in during the 1940s. With a bit of fabrication, he ended up stringing together the story of a lost Potter, taught at home by his muggleborn mother, previous girlfriend of Fleamont's father before he started to date his current wife. They were attacked by Grindelwald's followers and she managed to give him a portkey to the outskirts of Hogwarts before she succumbed to death. 

  


Professor Dippet lapped up the story to Harry’s amusement and allowed him a place in Hogwarts sixth year. Dumbledore in the background just stared in distrust. The looks intensified when he got sorted into Slytherin. 

  


To be honest, he was a little saddened to see this look on his face. He always had seen the man as a grandfather. However, he couldn't tell him about his own past without telling Dumbledore about his; Hermione's past words echoing loudly in his ears. 

  


It was amusing, however, that Dumbledore was a redhead. He never knew that. 

  


After Snape's borderline traumatizing Occlumency lessons, he knew to avoid looking into both Dumbledore's and Dippet's eyes; in case they would use Legilimency. He doubted Dippet would, but it was a precaution. 

  


He finally tuned back into Tom’s speech when they reached the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. The door was much like Gryffindor's, which was a portrait as well. However, instead of the Fat Lady it was a portrait of Salazar Slytherin which he recognized from the statue in the Chamber of Secrets. He had his locket around his throat and a staff with emeralds. He had a black snake wrapped around the other arm, which was up slightly to allow the serpent room. The portrait drummed his fingers on the smooth ebony wood of the staff and waited for the password, which was surprisingly not needed. Tom simply hissed 'open' in parseltongue and it opened with a fond smile from Salazar. 

  


Harry remembered the stone brick floor, mostly covered fluffy grey carpets to counteract the shocking cold. In front of him was a glass wall, showcasing the lake right next to the room. There were emerald green couches surrounding the room, accented by furred black throw pillows. Each couch had a wooden coffee table to accompany it. Bookshelves filled to the brim surrounded a marble fireplace, crackling at regular intervals and warming the immediate area. There was an archway on one side of the room, opening to another. They had I desks, a blackboard, and extra schooling supplies. It looked like a study room. 

  


He smiled slightly, remembering using the polyjuice potion to get access; after accusing Malfoy with opening the Chamber of Secrets. 

  


The couches were sparsely covered with students sitting together and chatting quietly. In the study room he saw many students sitting together and working on what seemed like transfiguration homework. 

  


“Welcome to the Slytherin common room Harry.  This is where you will make the most of your alliances…  and friends if you are in to that sort of thing.” He said 'friends' with a tone that suggested he is above such a thing, as if it mildly disgusted him. Tom leaned his head closer to Harry.  He completely disregarded his personal space; whispering in a sultry tone, he left electrifying puffs of warm breath on his neck, “The only rule is to not get caught,” he breathed, “-if disobeying your superiors,” Harry had to suppress a shudder. Tom reclined back and reverted to his previous tone, “The password is 'fraternity' and that will be used to get in the common room. I used parseltongue to get into this common room if you are wondering why I didn't need it. Take that as you will. It changes every week and you will need to check the notice board in the study room every Sunday night, which either I or a fellow Slytherin prefect will write the password on,”

  


Harry nodded and Tom looked faintly surprised when he didn't comment on the parseltongue. He immediately masked it and led him to the male dorms. Some of the students looked curiously at the new student but with a glare from Tom they looked away almost immediately.

  


When they walked into the dorm a bleach blond head of long hair looked up from his homework,  textbook laying on his bed; his face turned confused when he looked at the new student, “Tom,” he hedged, “-who is he?” Harry guessed he was a Malfoy. 

  


“A transfer student. His family was killed by Grindelwald's forces, leaving him without any tutors,” 

  


The blond nodded and stood up with a flourish, showing his nobility. He went to Harry and held out a hand, “Abraxas Malfoy,” 

  


Harry smirked internally at the correctly guessed surname and clasped his hand, shaking it, “Harry Potter,”

  


He raised a single eyebrow and spoke, “A Potter? I never thought I would see the likes of them in Slytherin,”

  


Harry let go and put his hands behind his back, and let out a self-depreciating chuckle, “I agree, not many people from prominently Gryffindor families get sorted into the rival house,” he paused, “My mother wouldn't care though, she was a Ravenclaw,”

  


Abraxas nodded with a smirk, lasting only a split-second, and went back to his homework. 

  


Score. He had assumed his identity as a pureblood, or at least a halfblood if his supposed mother was a muggleborn. It would score points in the Slytherin house if both his parents were magical, Pureblood emphasis and all. 

  


Let's hope Volde- Tom does not know Legilimency yet.

  


* * *

  


Tom paced back in forth in uncharacteristically showed emotion. From the limited observations of the boy, this was not normal. He is usually very composed, in control of even the slightest twitch. Every movement is predetermined, calculated before it is even made. 

  


“Come on Harry, we need to go to Madam Malkin's,” he snapped. Tom reached for his clothed forearm and, again, warmth spread down their arms. He let go quickly and sneered at the new student; though his mind was racing with questions. 

  


Who was this person that made him feel like he just…  knows? The gaze looked like someone who had seen everything, but emerged victorious despite it; a survivor who does not wish to be one. A mere stare that evokes such feelings should not exist! One does not make Tom Riddle, the great heir of Salazar Slytherin, uncomfortable. It should be impossible and it infuriates him. 

  


He had gained control of his body, including his emotions a while ago. It would not do for Lord Voldemort to let a heart rule the mind. 

  


Not to mention the warmth. What is that? It feels like…  home. That is the only thought that remotely describes it. It's like shade on a sweltering day, or a warm ray of sun on a cool day. Something that counteracts the negative with a positive, leaving behind neutral tranquility. 

  


A peace that cools the chaos.

  


The tug of war between repose and havoc; calm that always wins whenever he accidentally brushes against Harry bloody Potter, and loses when he flinches away. It is at the very least…  disorienting when he feels a sudden, sharp high and then a major low afterwards. 

  


It reminds Tom of a drug, and in fact he is treating it like one. Some of the 'accidental' brushes against Harry are not so accidental. He feels like a parent continuously allowing their child-

  


“Please mommy, just five more minutes. Please!”

  


-more playtime; the mother that always promises themselves that this is the last time, but could never have the heart of saying no to their child. 

  


Tom feels like that mother. 

  


The short pulse of pure happiness is addicting, and he hopes that Harry would not notice the (hopefully) flippant brushes of hands, or guiding nudges toward the next shop. 

  


If felt like an addiction. It felt like… love. Not towards the person, he barely knew him; the physical feeling of touching him felt like a concentrated version of the fondness he feels towards Salazar Slytherin's portrait. He was his only companion for a while. 

  


Buried deep in the forgotten trenches in his mind, is the need and yearning for human interaction beyond emotionless conversations he finds with his associates in Slytherin. He wants to be cared for without being used for his magical abilities or prowess in manipulation. He wants to be hugged, to be able to cry--

  


Sentiment. 

  


He squashed it down ruthlessly.

  


Harry raised an eyebrow at his harsh tone, “Tom, what's the hurry? I was going to buy some more books, I have plenty of money to buy extra. Money is not an issue,”

  


Tom stopped pacing and collected himself, “I guess I would be…  what do you call it, anxious?” He tasted the new word on his tongue, as if he had never experienced anxiety. 

  


Harry looked at him amused, holding a bunch of books, “Why would you be anxious?”

  


He looked at Harry straight in the eye and replied in an eerily calm tone, “I have no idea,” He then hisses lowly in parseltongue, looking at his hands “And I dislike not knowing,”

  


Harry locked eyes with the future Dark Lord. 

  


Pale blue to emerald. 

  


The awkwardness was palpable and Harry swiftly looked away to continue looking through the bookshelves.

  


* * *

  


It was a few weeks after Harry joined 6th year. Classes were going smoothly. They were in Transfiguration and Harry took his customary seat next to Tom in the very middle of the classroom; as far away from the Transfiguration Professor, Dumbledore, as possible without admitting defeat. 

  


The clock tower rang, signifying the start of another period. 

  


Professor Dumbledore looked up from his papers on his desk, awaiting to be graded.  He smiled brightly and his blue eyes twinkled. He was in his usual robes, horrendous and brightly colored. Moving from the desk to step in front of the blackboard, he tapped it with his wand. In an instant, the lesson appeared in white  chalk dust like many times before. 

  


“Today we will be learning how to achieve human transfiguration. Take out your textbooks and read pages 56-57. Once your done start the exercise on the blackboard. Use what you will read. It is paramount to apply this to your future transfiguration magic.”

  


After a respectable amount of time following the instruction Tom raised his hand with confidence and just sat there in silence; hand unerringly staying there. Dumbledore glanced at it and huffed in what was supposed to be a relenting breath, but it only managed to sound pretentious. 

  


For the past few weeks, Harry really opened his eyes to the prejudice Dumbledore showed Slytherin house, along with the cold neutrality towards Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. He is the Gryffindor Snape. Though, he is much more subtle because even the idiot Dippet would fire him if it was blatant. 

  


He picks Slytherins very rarely when it comes to answering questions that usually come with house points; and when he does it is directed towards those who have no idea what is going on. It is, admittedly, usually Crabbe and Goyle. Other Slytherins have tried to act clueless in class to get called on and score points, but Dumbledore is not stupid and caught it the second or third time. 

  


He once gave a detention to a Slytherin for being late. Fair enough. But then a few days later a Gryffindor also came late, much later than the other Slytherin and got off scathe free. A mere admonishing and she sat down with smugness practically radiating of her. 

  


“Yes Mr. Riddle?”

  


He set his hand down on the desk, clasping them together and leaning back slightly, “Unfortunately,” he drawled, “Harry and I have already read those pages; and I myself have finished the entire textbook,”

  


Dumbledore's eyes turned hard and he replied with slight annoyance, “If that is the case, Harry could name two of Miranda’s laws and you could name the other three,”

  


With a sly smile Tom answered, “The first law is very simple,” He twirled his wand, “It recognizes that matter is the same no matter what. It is different configurations of said matter that lead to different forms,”

  


He paused for emphasis, and Harry looked at him with amusement.  Tom continued, “The second law backs this up. For instance, if you don't add any extra matter to an object it will always have the same weight. It is the spaces between particles that will expand, giving the illusion of a bigger object. If you transfigure something and it becomes heavier, somewhere along the way you had conjured more matter; you can't create matter, it just is,”

  


“When you create objects out of thin air it does not create matter as I said before; it comes from somewhere. It is debatable where it comes from. Some believe it comes from banished objects, and some believe it takes the same amount matter equally among different objects around the universe,”

  


“The third law is that what you are attempting to conjure or transfigure cannot contradict. That is why we generally cannot create food out of thin air. It creates something dead and alive, which is obviously contradictory,”

  


Tom glanced at Harry and he gave an imperceptible nod back. Harry started to speak, “The fourth is that you can't create life. It is the same thing as raising the dead. You can give the appearance of life, but it is not the same thing. You can't create souls, just like you can't create matter. And the last one, the fifth, is the fact that you can't cause death in a single spell. You can cause something to happen that will lead to death, but pure unadulterated death is not possible unless Death caused it themselves,”

  


Harry and Tom glanced smugly at each other. The former had a small smirk playing at his lips while the latter had a full blown one, conceited and smug. His high cheekbones had a light flush of pleasure, one that you would have to squint to notice. It is obvious he enjoyed one-upping his hated professor. His confidence and ego, while large was not overbearing. It was really hot-

  


Harry cursed in his mind when he realized his train of thought. 

  


Seriously Harry, you can't have a crush on Tom Riddle; baby Lord Voldemort himself. He mentally slapped himself and dustings of pink began to appear on his face. 

  


Harry became rigid and put his hands in his lap. 

  


Dumbledore grudgingly nodded and waved his hand in reluctant consent, “Very well. You may get started,” The academic students listened for early insight into their classwork, while the others were simply reading or staring into nothingness, “Conjure a mirror and attempt to give yourself a different colored eyebrow. If you complete it without much trouble,” he reflexively glanced at Tom at this, unconsciously acknowledging his magical talent , “-try to do other changes to your face, such as lengthening the hair or changing your eye color. Don't attempt to do more than that. Am I clear?” 

  


He waited for a moment for the duo’s affirmation, they nodded, Harry more so than Tom. 

  


With a benign smile on his face, he clasped his hands again and waved his wand to create the scent of lavender; as he did with all his lessons with practical work. 

  


He winked and gave his customary, “For the nerves,” as he moved the scent across the room with a flick of his wrist. 

  


Harry tuned out the instructions Dumbledore gave to the rest of the class as he conjured a mirror, a simple square with a black rim. 

  


He looked at his face, nothing out the ordinary. He had his pale skin, circular glasses, green eyes and lightning scar. It is nice to have a bit of normalcy.  Though, not really. He glanced at the Slytherin green and scowled lightly before brandishing his holly wand from his front pocket.

  


Tom was already murmuring incantations and waving his wand in precise waves.  He let a small, satisfied smile grace his face when one of his eyebrows turned silver. He turned his attention to his other one, and it was not long before it turned green. 

  


Harry noted that he unsurprisingly did the second one without an incantation. Though, he inwardly marveled, once again, at how magically talented and powerful he was; and at such a young age. 

  


With a minute flick of his wand, they turned to the normal chocolate brown. 

  


He paused and turned slightly, looking at Harry with amusement, eyebrows raised. 

  


Harry realized with horror that he had been staring. 

  


Fuck. 

  


He looked away swiftly. 

  


He felt his palms warm and moisten in an embarrassed sweat, and he breathed out a huff of warm air. He moved a lock of raven hair out of his sight and tucked it behind his ear and started to attempt the spell work. 

  


In his peripheral vision he could still see Tom staring at him with an unreadable expression. The amusement was now gone and he looked thoughtful; which was scary enough on its own. 

  


When Tom showcased his emotions, he wanted you to see it and that meant they were most likely fake. He shows you what you want to see. Contrary to how at ease Tom looks when he does this, it could be very hard to control how other people perceive you. He does this around the clock, and doesn't let it up even when surrounded by the safety of the common room. 

  


Tom Riddle does not leave his face blank. Neutral maybe, polite attentiveness is his go-to during class, but no emotion at all? That is a red flag. 

  


When he has a blank face, it means he is thinking about something so important he doesn't remember or have the capabilities of arranging his mask. 

  


And right after he had been caught being stared at, by Harry namely? 

  


It does not bode well. 

  


Before Harry could spare another glance at Tom, he had reverted back to being the polite academic, diligently doing his classwork. 

  


Harry shook his head at his own antics and started attempting to change his eyebrow color. 

  


He managed to change it to a blond that reminded him of Malfoy before the wand slipped out of his sweaty palms and landed with a clatter on the stone bricks, in the middle between him and Tom. 

  


He cursed and leaned down to grab it, but before he could Tom had already grasped the handle. 

  


He stilled with shock when silver sparks emitted from the tip of the wand, like how his own did when it chose him. 

  


Harry wanted to slap himself when he remembered, brother wands. Distantly, he heard Dumbledore say that he had lost Slytherin 10 points for foul language, but he paid it no mind as Tom gave it back to him. He had the face that clearly said, 'We are talking about this later.’ 

  


Time seemed to pass too quickly as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation that was about to occur. 

  


The bell rang and he honestly felt cheated on time. 

  


Tom guided him to a secluded hallway as Harry struggled to keep his face interested but ultimately clueless. 

  


He turned to Harry with a predatory gleam and just looked, eyes grooming over his body, resting for further examination at certain spots. 

  


It took everything Harry had to remain rigid, but it failed when he faltered and gulped, “Okay Tom, could you stop molesting me with your eyes and just get to your point?”

  


He smirked and hummed in acknowledgment, “I think you already know, Harry,”

  


The man in question did his best to look bewildered and tilted his head, “What do you mean? I have no idea why you brought me here. Care to enlighten me?”

  


Tom pierced his eyes with his own. Without a word he held out his wand for Harry to grab. 

  


Harry let in a sharp inhale and his mask flickered. He glanced from the wand to Tom’s eyes, gleaming with subtle anticipation. He thanked the Gryffindor in him and took it from his hand; damning the consequences. 

  


He hitched when his hand glowed in a faint AK light and his own magic started to flow in the wand, in a repulsive mockery of his holly one. His magic had accepted the wand as an acceptable conduit. The wand had claimed the irreplaceable lives of so many. 

  


Distantly, he heard the screams of his mother, Lily, pleading for the life of her only son; reverberating in the small confinement of his head. The sickening green light flashed again as his magic spiked, before dissolving into faint sparks. 

  


He was going to be sick. 

  


He had been traversing through this timeline blithely; uncaring toward his own image. He was not going to be here permanently, and his presence in the 1940s should not affect the real world; if it did then why did he not hear about it happening until now?

  


Time travel does not change the current history of the universe; the past is set in stone. You can't change it, and if it supposedly does it is an illusion of freewill; it is magic repairing the paradox your future self had created when you time traveled in the past. The shift in time is destined to happen no matter what. Magic forces the witch or wizard to do what they had done in the future. Theoretically, the initial time travel does not need to happen to have effects on the past. 

  


However, when the select person goes back in time to complete what is already predetermined, it bridges the two realities. If this never happened, the timelines will diverge until they become separate realities; alternate universes, one where some event has happened without the interference of the time traveler and one where this event never occurred. 

  


Lost in thought, he stared blankly at the wand in front of him. A shudder went through him and he refocused; the blur sharpening until his vision became clear. 

  


A hand squeezed his shoulders and he jumped in surprise. Tom looked at him with a hungry look and gave a genuine smile, “We could be great, you and I,” he paused and looked earnestly at Harry, “Stay with me and we will achieve this. The wizarding would will grovel at our feet,” 

  


With a final squeeze of his shoulders, he took his wand back, fingers lingering at the warmth that shot down their spines. 

  


Harry blinked at the empty space in front of him.  In the absence of Tom, the air chilled. 

  


He dissolved into hysterical laughter.

  


* * *

  


A first year hufflepuff squeaked in fright. 

“Hey! Potter!” a slightly slurred voice yelled through the darkness.

  


Harry paused, textbooks in hand and froze. Had he just got caught? He looked warily in the direction of the noise, noting thankfully it was not a teacher, nor a student with a badge. The other’s lumos was lighting the hallway dimly, enough to see who was holding said wand. 

  


“Yes?” he answered, face blank. 

  


Charlus looked like a cat that got the canary and smirked in a way that was supposed to be frightening, though it just made him look like a blundering idiot. His lit wand was in his hand and he was walking toward him, taking unnaturally heavy steps; as if they were hurt. He almost tripped on his feet and swayed a little, though staying upright. It was obvious he was drunk. 

  


Charlus smiled nastily, “Well, well, well, isn't it an ickle slimy Slytherin wandering the halls, all alone after curfew,”

  


Harry raised an eyebrow, “I don't need to explain myself to you, you are not a perfect nor headboy, you are breaking curfew yourself as well,”

  


He looked slightly stupefied for a second before regaining his threatening stance, pointing his wand at Harry, “Shut up, filthy snake,” slurring over the words heavily.

  


Harry looked at him in disbelief and chuckled, whispering to himself, “Alrighty then,” 

  


He managed to only take a single step in his previous direction, content to preventing an altercation, before a bright red spell shot past him. He froze and turned back around, eyes hard and unforgiving. 

  


Charlus’ smirk widened before he shot another spell at him, this time a pale blue and one which Harry had to dodge. 

  


The air seemed to still as they both stared at each other, Harry’s glare boring into the Gryffindor. 

  


He tilted his head and gave a crooked grin, eyes dilated from the alcohol, “You are a disgrace,” He was blinking heavily as if it exerted him to pronounce the words, “Potter's don't get sorted into Slytherin, you have to be taught a lesson, slimy snake,”

  


He shot another spell at Harry, which dissipated after colliding onto a hastily casted Protego. Books dropped to the floor.

  


Charlus snarled before shooting five more in rapid succession, all wordless; which even Harry had to admit was testament to his proficiency in offensive magics. 

  


He gritted his teeth as each spell collided with his already weakened shield. Each hit dulled the pale blue of the magic, leaving lighting-like cracks of vulnerability throughout. They each caused waves of pressure to flood Harry as he kneeled in effort to hold its existence, not unlike waves of water threatening to plunge him into oblivion. Magic crackled all around them in bright sparks, lighting up the secluded hallway. Harry frantically looked around for a way of escape; he was not prepared for this at all. He shot out a stunning spell in the general direction of Charlus, blind due to the glaring lights. Harry hoped this duel was not heard or saw by anyone, though he noticed the portraits in the immediate vicinity were gone; no doubt notifying someone in a position of authority. He cursed mentally before all became still. The lights were gone and Harry could see nothing. 

  


He quickly put another shield in front of him and strained his hearing to find where the other Potter was. 

  


Harry heard a cuff of a shoe; and before he could turn around everything became darker than before.  


  


* * *

  


Tom cursed mentally at Harry’s stupidity. 

  


“-he was last seen at the second floor corridor, one hallway over from the girls bathroom. The portraits will report if they see any more activity; but so far, they seem to have disappeared. There were scorch marks marks at the scene along with books that were stolen from the restricted section,”  


  


Slughorn gave a pointed look to the on-duty prefects, “Look around the castle; particularly the 2nd floor.  Harry was last seen stunned. He could be hurt. Tell a portrait if you see anything,”

  


There was a tense pause before Slughorn took out his wand and nodded, “You are dismissed,” 

  


Tom and the other prefects nodded and made a move to leave, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and locked eyes with the grim ones of Slughorn, “We’ll find him,”

  


Tom nodded jerkily before he strode towards the staircases.

  


Worry started to seep in Tom like water would through cracked stone; slow, but ultimately accumulating until there is a large pool below the surface. It collected in his heart, weighing him down. 

  


Oh god, is Harry alright? What happened? If Potter even hurt the slightest hair on him he will pay. The Cruciatus will feel like a tickle in comparison. He will flay him alive and force him to eat his own flesh to survive. He will beg for death, and he will be denied that mercy. He will suffer. 

  


His skin felt hot and cold at the same time, prickly and uncomfortable. His eyes were raving in every nook and cranny as he sped through the halls. Panicked thoughts were racing through his mind

  


Why was Harry even out tonight? Slytherins are supposed to notify a peer that they are going to break a rule so they can cover for them. It is to help prevent, or at least minimize the amount of punishments given. It isn't charity, so most Slytherins will not do it for someone unless you owe them a favor or give them something it return. But, he has explicitly stated that Harry could ask himself without consequence. 

  


Tom doesn't, have friends; he has allies. However undoubtedly Harry is the closest, and probably will be the only one. Surprising since Harry was only here for a few months. 

  


However, ever since the meeting in February, he felt a connection with him. Not the warmth, though it did add to his fascination with Harry. It was an emotional connection. He hadn't been more open with any other person, Harry knows more about his true personality than any of his Knights, or any of his Slytherins. For some reason, he feels no need to have a mask around him; or atleast one as inhibiting as his other ones. 

  


Harry has seen the cruelty he could have. He was oddly nostalgic when he saw it, and it was not the reaction he expected. He expected disgust, hatred, or maybe even sadistic glee. Not pity. And certainly not towards himself. 

  


He makes no sense. Harry is a puzzle, and one Tom intends to solve. 

  


His lungs started to burn at the incessant pace he has been taking through this castle. He managed to make it all through the second floor and halfway up the stone staircase. He heaved gasping breaths. His legs felt non-existant, the general area pulsing with sluggish warmth and  exertion. 

  


He pressed a sweaty palm against the cool stone, revelling in the slight comfort of the soothing temperature before his thoughts slammed to a harsh stop. He strained his hearing and fought to keep his breathing quiet enough to hear the noise he had just heard; not jarring, but a slight difference to the pleasant buzzing of white noise. Hardly noticeable. He wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been accustomed to paying attention to every painful detail. 

  


A well-received side-effect of the orphanage.

  


A growl escaped his throat when he recognized what it was. Voices. A highly distressed one.

  


Harry was the only thing on his mind. Bright green eyes, if he didn’t have ironclad control of his body he would shiver. It reminded him of death.

  


A reprieve for some. An inevitable fate for many. And for the rest; and unending and eternal unknown. Terrifying, blank, uncomprehending. Greater men have fled from it in tears. Scraping through Death’s claws with bursts of vigor induced adrenaline; the final act of self-preservation. 

  


However, those who successfully fought through, delayed their passing, will look back and smile at the adoring eyes of children and grandchildren. Tom could almost hear their pleading to retell the story of their heroic escape from the monster of all monsters.

  


Tom didn’t know what category he fell in. He had long ago accepted that Death was Death, and was impossible to subvert. It was possible to extend life beyond the normal range. Though if Tom was anything he was ambitious; and he planned to live longer than anyone. He planned to see the universe die. He planned to see the stars fade, the Earth die, everything become mere ghosts of itself.

  


‘Everything but Harry,’ he thought traitorously.

  


So much for being emotionless. Unfeeling. 

  


Panic seeped in as he was finally conscious of his surroundings. He was speeding towards the closed door; the small gap near the floor emitting a pale purple light. 

  


Tom slammed the door open with the bang and his heart stopped. 

  


Charlus was slumped against the wall, snoring softly. Ozone permeated throughout the room, saturating the room in a magical tang. Bringing his vision to the other side of the room, his breath stuttered in a slight relief; before it was overtaken by another worry. Harry was still, and in the darkness he couldn’t quite make out if he’s breathing. Dread settled deep in the pit of his stomach and his thoughts sped until they swam uncontrollably; detailing Charlus’ suffering, Harry’s absence, despair, loss of hope. 

  


He kneeled in front of him, gasping desperate breaths. He realized absently his hands were shaking as he brought it to his neck.

  


Tom felt a fluttering pulse and his tenseness dramatically eased. 

  


He took out his wand from his holster with a flourish and whispered, “Eneverate,”

  


His Harry woke up with a gasp, eyes wildly seeking who had awaken him; flinching. Once he saw it was Tom, he relaxed. He gave a small smile. His eyes glowed slightly in the darkness.

  


“Tom,” he whispered.

  


With a growl, Tom enveloped Harry in a tight hug. Harry felt his robes being grasped desperately. Tom nuzzled his head into his raven locks, sniffing, trying to steady himself from his previous desolation and worry, “Are you okay Harry? Did he hurt you?”

  


Harry nodded into Tom’s chest and murmured, “I don’t feel any different. I think I’m fine,”

  


After the moment of safety, Tom let go abruptly as if he couldn’t believe he had done what he just did. After regaining his bearings, his expression suddenly hardened and he stiffened, standing and turning to the still-unconscious Charlus. With a snarl, he sent a silent ‘Incarcerous’. Ropes snaked around the Potter and knotted; leaving him bound tightly. 

  


Charlus let out a snore and didn’t awaken.

  


Tom’s eyes softened and picked him up bridal style, ignoring the muttered protests. He walked out of the room, fully ignoring the protest of his legs, Harry in his arms.

  


* * *

  


A soft orange glow cloaked the room, emphasizing his Knight’s prevalent aristocrat features. Tom surveyed his followers and smirked, “My Knight’s,” he whispered, “...  welcome,” They all sat attentively, straight-backed, posturing slightly submissively, “Report,” 

  


Abraxas came up from his seat first and kneeled before his Lord, “My Lord, I have spoken with Ruthford as you asked,”

  
Tom made a pleased noise and said, “Continue,”

  


“Dolohov has sympathies towards our cause. He despises muggles and wants muggleborns to be fully accustomed to the wizarding world, completely cut off from the muggle one. However, he has shown disdain for magical creatures and mixed-bloods,”

  


Tom considered that. Ruthford Dolohov is a 7th generation pureblood. Not very long in relation to many others such as the Nott’s and Prewett’s, who have been alive since the creation of Hogwarts’ Castle. Even so, due to the family’s many political expenditures and wealthy businesses, they have a reputation even beyond the fairly conservative wizarding Britain. They are considered the third most powerful family in Britain, only behind the Potter’s and Malfoy’s in influence and wealth. In the ICW, Ruthford’s father held a seat on the delegates for Great Britain, and hence gave the son many powerful connections internationally. It is rumored that many politicians owe favors to his father; debts supported by magic. In light of his demise, it transferred over to his son; giving him power over his associates with no work. Since the debts were magically enforced, magic herself were judge and punish those accordingly who fail to complete a fitting task given.

  


His reluctance and prejudice towards magical creatures is slightly dangerous. He needed his political power to pass laws, bills; anything he needs moved forward to advance his following. One of his whole premises is to give creatures such as vampires and werewolves equal rights. 

  


That is unacceptable. 

  


“Antonin,” he barked, and said person gave a startled flinch, blinking up at Tom, “Ruthford is your uncle, correct?”

  


“That is correct My Lord,”

  


Tom gave a considering look and tilted his head mockingly, “Do you care for him Antonin?”

  


Said person paled and gave a desperate shake of the head, “N-no milord; and even if I did your goals and sake are worth more than my possible mourning,”

  


Tom smirked a little at the reply and gave a nod. He heard a small, but noticeable sigh of relief, “So are you not close?” Tom gave a frown when the implications hit him. 

  


“We are amiable acquaintances,  My Lord,”

  


“Get closer to him. Try to convince him in our ways and focus on his views in mixed bloods. If you cannot do it in 3 months, he will have to be eliminated. Do you understand Antonin?”

  


Antonin gave a nod, looking slightly sick but giving off adoring looks towards Tom, “Yes milord,”

  


Tom looked at every one of them; staring into their eyes as if ascertaining their loyalties, to make sure that they could be trusted with the task he is about the give them.

  


Tom must have made a decision; his followers looking curiously, but not daring to ask. No one questions Tom Riddle if they want to retain all of their limbs.

  


“I find myself in a position where I am not able to adequately protect Harry; you all are to choose separate days of the week and watch over him. Get close, but if I find any of you are ever romantically or sexually involved with him during this period I will eviscerate you,” His voice changed dramatically; instead of being conversational it's guttural, eyes piercing and glazed with warning, “Interchange your days so Harry doesn't catch on.”

  


Everyone of them looks pale. They obviously got the message. 

  


Good. 

  


Tom waved his hand in a permissible manner, “Dismissed,”

  


Emotions, feelings warred with each other with no clear victory in sight. 

  


Tom is used to pushing destructive emotions in a dark crusty corner of his mind; such as love, hope, or trust. He has learned that feeling and showcasing these things, while maybe beneficial to in some cases, are detrimental in most. Showing weakness in Hogwarts and the Orphanage is deadly. Optimism is just as fatal. 

  


Hope. He learned to disregard it a long time ago. He could barely remember the fuzzy outline of a window, covered in little droplets of water from the rain, watching cars go by; hoping that one day, one person driving by might adopt him. Each day waiting, hoping at the window was futile. Optimism did nothing. It did nothing to help and cushion the terrible conditions of the orphanage. The only person he could trust was himself. 

  


He managed to rage in; like a bull in a China shop, and utterly annihilate these founding beliefs. 

How could a seemingly average boy, worm his way into the heart of an unfeeling Tom Riddle?

  


This is dangerous. Harry is a weakness, a loose end.

  


He absolutely despised loose ends.

  


* * *

  


Why is Tom ignoring me? Did I do something wrong? Did he decide that I'm not worth it? 

  


Did he find out where I came from?

  


Did he find out my feelings for him?

  


Sickness overwhelmed him and his skin took a subtle green hue. A lump of uncertainty started to form in his throat, physical but at the same time poetic. He felt like a lump; useless, mediocre. His emotions formed it, turning into a real phenomenon that physically is created into an overbearing pressure. 

  


A nonentity became tangible. 

  


Thoughts swarmed his mind, overwhelming the senses. Scenarios formed; all moderately traumatizing and unthinkable in any situation. Tom can't kill him. The Tom that wormed his way into his heart, against all odds. He could see the cruel smile, interchanging his beautiful features with his serpentine facade variably.  

  


Tom can't laugh at him, present him to his Death Eaters; taunting him for having feelings. 

  


Even this is not the worst. Creating it in his head made his heart beat erratically. It felt like it had stopped his heart, all train of thought. Cold fingernails scraped through his body, reverberating like on a chalkboard and causing a disgusted shiver. Causing a noticeable recoil. 

  


Tom looked all too sympathizing. He looked too kind, too sad with what he was about to do. Harry should've known it wasn't true; he knew what was going to happen, and that should've clued him into realizing that it wasn't real. 

  


Tom would never do this. 

  


Would he?

  


Tom gave a sad smile and reached towards Harry squeezing his shoulder in a mock reassurance, “I'm sorry Harry. I don’t return your feelings,” 

  


Horrifyingly, Tom’s smile turn mocking; sadistically gleeful. 

  


He was having the time of his life. 

  


Tom continued, the sadness gone from every part of his face, his posture. It even looked like he was fighting cruel laughter, “And anyways, how could you even have feelings for me?” He leaned in,  lips brushing the shell of his air; recreating his first every meeting with the Dark Lord, “After all, I'm your parents murderer,”

  


He woke up with a gasp, sweat soaking his sheets and leaving an imprint of his body. He took in shuddering breaths, trying to regain his bearings. His head swam in thoughts; too fast to comprehend, but too prevalent to ignore. 

  


Deep breath in. 

  


Deep breath out. 

  


After a while, he felt mildly in control of himself. He glared at the silhouette, formed from his own perspiration. He then remembered what happened in his dream. 

  


Anger flooded his veins. He is getting increasingly insecure; a deep pit of self-loathing every time Tom snubs him. 

  


Questions, straight from the nightmare, flood him.  

He needs answers and he needs them now. With a fixed resolve, Harry grabs his wand and angrily changes his clothes. His jaw clenched with every minute movement, a step closer to having the answers he desires. 

  


Tom is most likely in the library. It's a good place to start. 


	2. *Not an Update*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read please :)

Hi people's!!!

Soo I'm currently in the ICU... If you want to know what I have it's called Systemic Mastocytosis. I had to be on an adult dosage of morphine constantly for more than 8 hours and I needed to be on muscle relaxers due to the pain... Yikes... I'm still in the hospital and I'm about to move to the normal hospital rooms because I just had steroids and it's helping amazingly! 

Sadly, I never even started the last part due to this. I'm so sorry   
:( please forgive me and I'll begin the last chapter when I'm out of the hospital! 

Bye :)

**Author's Note:**

> And onwards with the last chapter! It should be done anywhere between one to three weeks :) 
> 
> Comment your thoughts, good or bad.
> 
> ~Katelynn Irene Lovegood


End file.
